How To Care for Your New Time Traveler
by AliBlack
Summary: This is what happens when the lovely Tavington ends up in the present. Half Crack fic, just for fun.
1. Saturday the 16th

_Dear Reader, I have been bored. I have been tired. I have never been a Tav fan. This is my first foray into Tavland. Jean is my man, so this is strange territory. Not to be taken seriously, I guess. Have fun.  
_

* * *

Dear Diary,

I purchased you because you were pretty. I am quite shallow.

Oh, and also, I have a new 'pet.' His name is William. He's awake, I have to go. Later

Dear Diary (again),

Now when I said 'pet' I guess I meant that rather loosely. Pet in the sense that he can't leave the house without me and I'm responsible for making sure he doesn't starve. Not pet in the sense that he could kill me with a hole punch if he got it in his mind to. You see, he's a dude. Like a guy kind of dude. Person, really. Just as much a person as I, though of the man sort. The yummy man sort.

I don't know why I never thought of having a man pet before. They're quite nice. The hot British accent is a great option. Perhaps it's because people don't go leisurely romping through time all that often. Ah well. What's done is done.

He just went to sleep, of course refusing my bed (damn it) in favor of the couch like the gentleman he is, though he does complain that it hurts his back. I like his hair. It's so pretty and long and smexy…

Fangirl squee. Strike that. _Quiet! fangirl squee_. He's sleeping. Yelling would be just rude.

So, as diaries go I guess standard procedure is to explain the background of whatever circumstance one might be in which prompts them to take up the mighty pen and keep a diary. Well, my dear book, my name is Bethany. About a week ago I discovered my little pet wandering the fields near my house and when I confronted him he brandished a sword at me. I guess once he realized I was a chick he put it away, but he was still really suspicious of my clothes and speech.

"Who are you and where am I?" he snapped at me.

"Bethany and Wakefield now what's with the attitude?"

"Attitude? Madam, I am an officer of the British Army, how dare you speak to me in this tone?"

I looked him up and down. Geez, this guy was crazy. "Not wearing that, you're not. And don't you guys stay in your own country?"

"This is our colony, and will stay that way." He straightened his back. "What are your loyalties? Are you a rebel?"

"Loyalties? Dude, you are either really lost, like two centuries lost, or crazy, and I'm banking on that second one."

"Doowd? What on earth? What in the Lord's name is going on? Where am I?"

"In 2008. Get a grip."

"2008?"

"Yeah, as in the year."

"You must be… Madam you must be terribly mistaken."

"Okay, buddy, so I think you're crazy and you think I'm crazy. This is just hilarious. You want me to show you and then give you a ride to a psych ward?"

"Show me what?"

I pulled out my cell phone, turning it over, flipping it open and shut. "See? Cell phone. Pretty. Shiny. Technology."

"What on God's green earth…?"

Eventually I realized he was telling the truth, but that was long after he believed me. I guess cars were a shock and all those paved roads were hard to ignore. So I brought him here, to my house and let him stay. Heck, who else on the block has a time traveling man pet? No one. That's right. I win.

That's basically the story. Now it's just the amusement of him figuring out things. And the hot. Oh… the hot.

Hot smexy.

Smexy steamy.

Steamy gorgeous yummy.

Well, this hardly constitutes a diary, all this word association.

I have grown tired and would like to retire to my bed. I wish he were in my bed, but one can only hope for the time to come. And it will.

Mwah ha ha.

The end. For today.


	2. Sunday the 17th

_Chapter Two. More boredom on my part today. This one is solely for the Tav fans. I went all out for you guys. I still love my Frenchman more. Love. _

* * *

Dear Diary, 

You know what was funny? When William came into the house and couldn't figure out how the heck I could magically turn 'candles' on and off at my will. I told him I had the power of witchcraft on my side.

That kind of freaked him out, so I tried my best to explain lights.

"You see, electricity – which is kind of like lightning – comes through the plug here, and is harnessed in the light bulb here. I can turn it on and off with this light switch here. You see?"

He stared at the lamp I was pointing at for a moment and just made a little _hmm_ sound.

"Cool," I said wandering into the kitchen to set down my bag and keys.

"Cool? I thought it was quite warm actually."

"Oh, no," I said coming back into the room. "'Cool.' It's an aesthetic – a colloquial. Pretty multi-purpose, like 'That's interesting,' or 'right, I understand. It's used all the time here."

William raised an eyebrow to me. "Riiight."

"Alright, this is going to be fun…"

In the space of an hour we went over the stove, the fridge, the microwave, the washer, the dryer, the sink, the shower, the toaster, the toilet, and, finally, photographs. Goodness –man pets are so exhausting.

"And what is this?"

"What?" I called from the kitchen.

"This. This strange, black, square thing on your wall."

I peered in through the doorway. "My television. It's like… oh goodness. I can turn it on and moving pictures come up on it."

"Moving pictures? By God…"

"Look," I wiped my hands on a dishtowel and grabbed the remote as I entered the room. When I turned it on up popped the History Channel where a program on World War I was playing. He eyed it in quite a spectacularly interested (and sexy) fashion before turning to me. "Why are they saying American? There can't be a… Is there a…?"

"Sorry William." I shrugged. "Britain lost. The United States of America has been going strong since the 1790's."

He frowned deeply. Is it strange that even his angry face is hot? "Simple farmers… how?"

"Doesn't much matter how, does it?" I said, turning the TV off once more. "It happened and that's that." At that he sunk down on the couch and stared at the wall for quite a long time, in thought.

I guess it still bothers him but he spends most of his time learning about things now. He likes to watch the History Channel. He also likes the beer I have, says it's much better than whatever slop they used to make. He asked for wine which I'm going to be getting for him from work tomorrow. Good thing I manage a restaurant. I get to swipe some pretty great stuff.

Oh, I think he's waking up, Later.

* * *

Ooooooooooh mehgawd. I just totally walked in on him shaving. After a shower. In a towel. Only a towel. Dear holy exalted whicheveryoumightchoosetorecognize deity, how gosh darned fit he is. All post-showery and toned and guh. Yeah, 'guh' that's the sound I just made. 

Ugh, with the long hair down… and the stomach… and the arms – I love the arms. They're such nice arms. The kind that the muscles come out when he crosses them in front of himself. By God, he has such strong arms, that could just hold me and…. Ahem. I mention the back and the shoulders? No? They're perfect too.

I shouted, "Sorry!" and backed out of the bathroom as fast as I could. I nearly tripped over my own feet. That would have been just great.

"I'm almost finished," he said, the door still ajar and steam escaping. Steamy, oh yes, not just a metaphor. And he wasn't even fazed! I had just walked in on him and seen everything except the cash and prizes and he didn't even seem affected!

Dude, if it was me… well, hey it would be nice to have those sexy blue eyes on me but – oh…. ahem… I mean, that would be bad. That would be smurfin' awkward.

Having a man pet is more work than I might have thought – though the eye candy is quite worth it.

"Oh, well, um..." I stammered, looking away from the door. "I went and bought you some clothes this morning while I was out."

"Yes?" his (smexy British) voice drifted out from the bathroom.

"I'm pretty sure they're your size and all. It's nothing too special – I wasn't sure what you would like."

"It's 2008, Bethany," he said. "I wouldn't know what good looking clothes were if they choked me."

"Right." I laughed, still completely red-faced. I grabbed the bags from where I had left them in the living room. I was so flustered that I had forgotten about how much fun I had picking everything out. Let's face it – picking out your guy's clothes is elevated to a woman's sexual fantasy these days. They're just so stubborn in this age. Oh, I am so damn lucky.

Reaching into the shopping bags I fished out a tee-shirt and jeans, pulling off the tags and setting them on the floor beside myself. Now, I had the requirement of explaining underwear to my dear pet. Fantastic.

"Alright, William. I have some undergarments for you here."

I heard the sink turn off a moment before the door was slowly pulled open and he peeked out of the room. "Excuse me?"

"They're called boxer briefs and you wear them under your trousers."

His face went through expressions of many various emotions before he managed to say anything. "First of all – why? Secondly, _you _– a woman – picked out my undergarments?"

I looked up from my sitting position on the floor with a half smile. "Don't worry; it's not a big deal in this time. And they're for… well… support."

"Support? What… Oh." His eyebrows knitted together before he reached a hand out begrudgingly to take the underwear. Score.

"You okay in there, William?" I called after a few minutes.

"Well…" he began. "I suppose they're not too uncomfortable."

"Okay then, I have the rest for you here."

He pulled open the door enough to grab the shirt and jeans and gave me a small smile. Small (sexy) smile. And, of course, I snuck a glance in the mirror behind him to check out the underwear. You would have done it too. He's got a great butt, oh heck yeah. All nice and _guh_ again. Can I pick out undergarments or what? "All, black?" he asked.

"It's pretty ambiguous," I told him, not fully able to hide my smile. What? He would look great in black, and the jeans were only dark anyway.

When he came out a minute later I swear I almost died. _Fangirl squee_ in my head. Nice tight tee-shirt and the great arms, oh, goodness. He raised his eyebrows, holding his arms open, anticipating approval. I gave him the thumbs-up. Verdict? Smexy.

"You look great."

"Hmm," he began. "It's… interesting, to say the least."

I smiled. "You seem to be enjoying your showers."

"Now that," he said, dropping his cynicism of modern day fashion, and following me as I entered the kitchen to start dinner. "Is a fantastic invention. I would have never thought water would be safe to bathe in. And hot water, at that. It's… remarkably enjoyable."

"It's a great amenity."

Well, I'm just about to the point of taking the food out of the oven. I shall continue before bed if anything interesting happens after dinner. Later.

Dear Diary,

Nothing special, dinner, television, light conversation, general sexiness. Tomorrow I go to work and then I clean out the second bedroom that has been storage for two years. Wish me sexy dreams. Good night.


	3. Monday the 18th

_Thanks for the Twister idea, **LazyChestnut**. I'll be sure to have great fun with that one! ; )  
_

* * *

Dear Diary,

Interesting day. I was in the kitchen this morning listening to some music and cleaning up a bit before I went to work – you know I love Nelly, good tunes… good tunes – and I guess William was calling to me or something because all of a sudden he grabbed my arm. The man spun me around and looked all mad (as well as a little sexy) when he was yelling, "By God Bethany, why are you not listening to me!?"

I pulled the earbuds out. "Because I was listening to music. Sorry!"

His rage was suddenly stayed as he raised a (sexy) eyebrow. "Music?"

"Yes, music, the musical kind. Here." I pushed a bud into his ear for a moment before he ripped it back out, looking as if he were swatting at a bug buzzing around his head.

"What on earth is that godawful noise?"

"Music."

"That is terrible."

"You sound like my mom," I said as I set my iPod on the counter. "It's called rap. It's more like rhyming to a beat than singing, though."

"It's more like Lucifer's ravings!"

"Sorry then, I'll just have you listening to piano sonatas from now on."

"Forget it," he said throwing his hands up. "I never had a mind for music anyway." He grabbed up the box of cereal – he has taken quite a liking to Frosted Flakes – and poured a pile into the bowl I had set out for him. In his silence I pushed one bud back into my ear so that I could hear both him and the music. After a moment I looked over to see his eyes focused upon me. "So you were… dancing?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"When you were listening to your… music," he said with a wave of his hand as if he were continuing to assert that it was terrible. "You were… swaying or moving around in some manner."

Had I been? I guess I always dance a bit when I have that kind of music on – albeit completely involuntarily – and I guess I wasn't thinking about how insane that might look to him. "Yeah," I said finally. "I guess."

He shrugged and scoured the refrigerator for the milk. "If that even comes close to dancing…"

I laughed. "It does in this time. No one waltzes anymore – not to _that_ music at least."

"What then, if I may, is _good_ dancing?" he asked in a very high-handed manner as he held one hand behind his back and a bowl of cereal in the other. Oh, he looked so proper and smexy – standing as proud as could be in his flannel pajama pants and tee shirt.

"Oh, I couldn't exactly show you – not here, not now."

"Why not?"

I was a bit thrown by that and for very obvious reasons! One, you need a partner or else you look like you're giving a lap dance (even then you pretty much are). Two, I would be remarkably self-conscious. I mean, I'm sure a 21st century man would find my dancing passably good – nothing special but not atrocious – but for William, I would look genuinely wanton. Oh, and third, one does not dance privately for a plutonic acquaintance… even if he is incredibly sexy… or if he asks you to. "No. No, that… dancing nowadays is relatively harmless, but to someone of your time it would be… remarkably… brazen."

"Brazen?" he asked wandering to the kitchen table. "I mean you were moving your hips a bit, but how bad could it be?"

I shrugged, silently thanking the clock on my microwave. "I don't know… I have to get to work. You can find MTV on the television okay? It's like ten channels up from your history. Watch the music videos and subtract ten whore points."

He cocked his head to the side. "_Whore points?_"

"Like, the girls in the videos dance much more provocatively than most people, but that's still the gist, okay? I have to go."

He nodded and I went off to work.

Funny thing is, people only seem to care about what's going on in your life when you've got juicy secrets. Or juicy man pets. Either, or.

So I get Janice, who is an employee of mine – a sous chef – asking me what's new in my life. Even though I tell her nothing much, she still insists there must be something. There's _always_ something.

Sure, maybe she is right. There is always _something_, a new favorite band, seeing some neat program on television – but nothing noteworthy, not between acquaintances. I hardly even know her, and I'm her boss, anyway. A maladjusted, strange boss, but still a superior. Since when has it been a good idea to press your boss for info?

I could hardly shake her before I could sneak into the cellar for the wine I promised William. I've never been a wine person. I've always been a real lowbrow beer gal. Not that anyone who drinks beer is lowbrow, it just lacks the sophisticated connotation of wine, I guess.

I do utterly detest white wines. They're disgusting. I like the red, unless they come in a box and then they taste like grapes soaked in acetone. I don't want something to take the paint off my fingernails, just something nice with dinner, for Budda's sake.

That's why beer is better.

So right now I'm in my office, pretending to do work. As strange and silly as I am in real life, I actually work very hard at my job and it pays off – inevitably I end up with stretches of time where I get to spin mindlessly in my swivelly chair and play with the Xbox I have cleverly duct taped to the underside of my desk. What's the harm? All the work is done, might as well keep myself occupied.

Hmm. Two hours left until I can go home. Note to self: Innocently take pictures of William so that I may Photoshop his face onto David Beckham's body while bored at work.

* * *

Dearest Diary (some more),

William was reading when I came home today, and how sexily he was. That man is a champ at reading. He's just so good at it, all leaning his head on his palm wistfully and gazing at the pages. Oh, I feel a tad faint at the thought.

When he saw me come in he replaced a bookmark in the pages and stood.

"So, how was your day?" I asked him.

William looked at the television as if he was worried it might sneak up and bite him. He shrugged. "I watched _that_ channel."

"Yeah? What did you think?"

He cleared his throat and moved his hands behind his back. "It was quite… _brazen_."

I smiled at the way his face paled as he said that. "Told you so."

He leaned closer to me. "Do women often wear so little… and in public? It's hardly even undergarments. Hardly."

"Only the loose ones, really. Most of them dress somewhat like me – I mean, I realize I'm not covered head to toe but I don't flash my naughty bits around to everyone I meet."

William gave me an expression of utter bewilderment. "By God, you have the strangest phrases these days."

"What? 'Naughty bits'?" I asked. "To be fair I am relatively strange, even for this time." I tapped a finger on my lips in thought. "To be honest I don't know who says naughty bits… Would you rather I said 'jugs'?"

"You're right," he said, holding his hands up in surrender. "You are odd."

So I'm getting to cleaning out the second bedroom while he continues to read (smexily). It hasn't been used since my roommate moved out back when I was still a student and an assistant manager, and I was leasing instead of owning. I'm glad I didn't get rid of the bed.

I keep sneaking glances out at my glorious pet in all his smexy glory, wondering how I might convince him that my bedroom was a better place for him ("Really, my bed's much more comfortable, and, no, of course it wouldn't be weird" perhaps?).

Dang, I just I found my lucky sock. Well, technically _half_ of my lucky sock_s. _The other one's been in my drawer for a year and a half. How on earth did I leave one sock in this damned room?

Oh, I think he's getting up.

* * *

Dear you (once again),

So William came in to ask if he could help, the dear man. He's such a sweetie. Man pets are so helpful. I mean, tell a dog to carry a box out to the living room and he just stares at you, sometimes with a vague expression of 'are you quite sure that I can do that?' Man pets actually listen. I am so happy.

"So you brought wine home?" he asked, having noticed the bottles I had carried in.

"Yeah, I got a nice Pinot Noir, one of my favorites – very smooth, a bit fruity – and a really rich Syrah, a hint of oak to it."

"Sounds nice."

"I think it is."

He did enjoy the wine with dinner, and between the two of us we managed to move all my crap (for lack of a better term – I have so much stuff that I just don't need. You don't even realize until you've lived without it for nearly two years.) into the living room. He watched a show on The French Revolution – which he found completely hilarious for some reason – while I washed the linins that had been under all the boxes for two years.

He was so excited to not have to sleep on the sofa again. And I told him we'd even redecorate in there too. My roommate liked unicorns for some reason – had a wallpaper border around the ceiling edges – Ugh. I told him we'd take it down as soon as possible after he stared at it, lip twitching in revulsion.

I had a momentary whim to ask if I could stay with him ("Yeah, I know how hard it is too sleep in an unfamiliar room – if it would make you feel _better_…") but I quelled the thought.

And Oh Lord – I found my game of Twister! Score! Happy dance.

That will be a fun toy to play with…. ahem.

I suddenly love Twister. Or Twister and wine. Ooooooh. Great idea.

Sexy idea.

I love my ideas.

Wine goes well with all sorts of sexy things. It makes them sexier ("Sorry! I'm just so tipsy I did not realize my hand has been on your bum… My mistake.").

Ah, man pets. This is the good life. Ta-ta, for now.


End file.
